


We Never Lost Control

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Deviates From Canon, Father/Son Incest, Fucked Up, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Nargothrond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7989661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrimbor will renounce his father - or give up everything else to have him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Never Lost Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaydreamBelieversDaughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamBelieversDaughter/gifts).



> Many thanks to amyfortuna for betaing this!

“I am not going with you.”

The words echoed down the long narrow corridor – rich, limpid Quenya that vibrated through the air no less sharply than one of his hammer-strokes.

The meaning of the words registered on Curufin's face after a few seconds, a delay fraught enough to prove that he had not been expecting Celebrimbor to refuse to follow him out of Nargothrond at all. 

“Tyelperinquar,” he said, his brow still lightly furrowed, uttering the name in a throaty, plodding tone.

Celebrimbor had lost count of how many conversations had started with his name drawled like that in recent years: it was Curufin's preferred way of addressing him whenever contrasts between them arose. The very sound of his name uttered so precisely made Celebrimbor cringe, because it felt like his father was trying to sink hooks in him with every clearly articulated syllable and thus tie him to himself. 

Every time Celebrimbor had to fight the urge to just give in.

“Of course you are coming with us.”

Celebrimbor shook his head, steadily holding his father's gaze, then Celegorm's. “I am not.” 

Celegorm huffed in impatience, his ample shoulders still brimming with pent-up rage after the council. “Enough of this nonsense, let's get packed.” He made to grab at his arm, but Celebrimbor stepped away from him. 

“I said, I am not going with you.”

“And why, pray tell?” Curufin asked, holding Celegorm at bay with a simple movement of his right hand. 

“Why? What you did –”

“What did we do?”

“You...Finrod –”

“It's no matter,” Curufin interrupted, waving the same hand. “Finrod is dead. He shouldn't concern you any longer. Though I do wonder,” he added, his voice taking on a mellower edge, sweetly cutting, “if you mourn him out of genuine, heartfelt sympathy, affection even, or if you do it out of guilt, because in your heart of hearts you are glad to be rid of a potential rival in your...attachments.”

“I would never!” Celebrimbor denied a tad too vehemently, but the blush stirred in his bosom by the insinuation crept up his neck and coloured his face, burned on his cheeks. His arms trembled with indignation, and he tried to steady them by clawing into the bare rock at his back.

“Be that as it may, you have not answered my question. Why do you wish to stay? Is Orodreth's ass so much of a treat that you do not wish to part from it?”

“My relationship with Orodreth has no bearing on my decision. Your actions do.”

“Oh, I know you have been fucking him,” Curufin persisted. “A witless fool, and a coward, probably thinks that by kicking us out of here he will appear stronger in your eyes. Pitiful, really. I think you...could do much better...so much better.”

Celebrimbor gritted his teeth. It came as no surprise that his father knew about his relationship with Orodreth, even if he had done his best to be discreet. What hurt him had deeper roots: his father mocked him, completely ignoring – or disregarding – the extent of the effort it took his son to part from him. His father had always ignored the most important thing. Even now he looked at him quizzically, challenging him to retort, his head cocked to one side. Celebrimbor kept his silence, because it wasn't a question of words anymore. All he could do was stand his ground, strengthen his resolve even against his father's jibes.

When Curufin spoke again, however, Celebrimbor was startled to hear the shrug in his voice, like the last careless hammer-stroke on a blade poorly folded, destined to be discarded and re-cast.

“I guess this is a farewell then.”

Standing right in front of him, Curufin opened the buttons of the stiff, thick collar of his tunic, pulled the flaps apart, revealing the length of his neck down to where it dipped into his collarbone, his dusky skin varnished with a veil of perspiration like dew on the tempting, fleshy petals of a carnivorous plant. 

Celebrimbor's eyes were instantly drawn to it, a fact that didn't escape his father, nor Celegorm, who still loomed over him like an angry mother-bear. The comparison made Celebrimbor cringe anew: the attention Celegorm devoted on Curufin was all but motherly. Curufin bowed his head, slipping his hands under those luscious raven locks of his, which cascaded over his shoulders in waves like the dark of a starless night. A very soft click that would have escaped Celebrimbor's hearing had he not been entirely concentrated on his father marked the moment when he undid the clasp of the necklace he wore. He gathered the slim chain and the pendant in his right hand, lifted Celebrimbor's own right hand and thrust the necklace in his palm, closing his fingers around it.

“May you find your peace,” he said, gently, and turned from him without giving him the time to react.

Celebrimbor tightened his hand. He knew the pendant without having to look at it. It was leaf-shaped, with many thin coils that held a single ruby in their grasp. It was the first present he had ever given his father. It had always been credited to him – his first successful project in the forge – but he could never have crafted it without his grandfather's help. Curufin very likely knew that secret. The pendant was warm from the contact with Curufin's skin, and Celebrimbor could have sworn that his father's very scent wafted up from the necklace, that the pale silver had been imbued with it. 

Suddenly, the thought that he would never see it again around his father's neck loomed before him as something unbearable. The pendant, so light and delicate, started weighing like a boulder in his palm. 

He tightened his fist even more, and the corners of the pendant dug into his skin.

“If -... if I were to follow you, what would I gain from it?” 

Curufin, who had gone a few steps down into the mouldy gloominess of the corridor, halted.

Celegorm's face snapped back towards him like had blasphemed. Celebrimbor was half sure he would march up to him and recite the Oath again in his face with all the fierceness he had employed before the people of Nargothrond. 

“Gain?” Curufin said, as he slowly spun around. “What else could you gain other than to uphold your familial duties, be true to your own?”

“My own,” Celebrimbor echoed, trying to mimic his father's matter-of-fact tone. “I do not feel like you are my own.”

“Then you are under a false impression...my beloved son.”

Celebrimbor grimaced, and at the same time his whole body shuddered to be called beloved. “Prove me wrong.”

“What would you have me do?”

Celebrimbor couldn't believe he was about to say it. But he did. His mouth opened and with the pendant still biting into his palm, and the dampness of the wall seeping into his back, he confessed. 

“Be mine,” he said, softly then louder, “be mine...in body, as you claim you are in spirit.”

Curufin's expression didn't change, didn't show the tiniest hint of surprise, but he clasped his hands together, in a reflective pose.

Celegorm's gaze turned predatory, like that of a wolf whose territory is threatened, ears perked in anticipation of what Curufin would say.

“You would lie with me.”

Celebrimbor nodded. “I would.”

“And if you did, would you be true to me?”

“...I would.”

“Why?”

“Because...because I love you...I love you and I've always wanted to –”

He didn't finish. It was such a poor excuse of a courtship, bitter like absinthe. Then again, he doubted there was a proper way to court your own father. He detached himself from the wall, praying his knees wouldn't buckle, dropping him at his father's feet when he needed to be in control. He managed to approach his father without faltering, keeping his eyes trained on his father's face. He opened his hand, held the necklace by the chain, and lifted it. 

He almost groaned in triumph when Curufin gathered his hair in his hand and held it up it, leaving his neck bare. Celebrimbor circled behind him, all but drooling at the sight of his nape, at the memory of how many long hours he had spent leering at its perfect curve. He circled his father's neck with his hands, and tied the pendant again around it.

His hands then moved lower and wrapped around his waist, staking his claim. 

Curufin turned to Celegorm. “Try to get a delay, have some of our followers stir trouble, anything. A couple hours will suffice...for now.”

Celegorm nodded, a faithful puppy to Curufin's will. He strode past them, back towards the central part of the caves, nodding to Celebrimbor with a gravity that almost made him laugh as he passed him by. 

“Well, I am all yours now,” Curufin murmured, leaning back into Celebrimbor's chest.

The bedroom Curufin shared with Celegorm was a modest one, with papers scattered everywhere, weapons and tools warring with one another for space, and clothing piled messily on top of two large chests. 

Stripping his father in the midst of that chaos almost gave Celebrimbor the impression that he was simply following the course of a current he had no way of stopping. His rational mind immediately reminded him that he wasn't, that he was actively giving in to something base, utterly contemptible. Yet there was no turning back. Why would he turn back when just baring his father's body bit by bit almost made him dizzy, and feeling his skin under his fingertips was something akin to an electric spark.

Curufin smiled up at him once he was naked, a smile that had nothing in common with the one with which he had bid the council farewell. Celebrimbor brushed his fingers over his lips, tracing the shape of that broad, beguiling smile. Their tender softness enticed him, but he decided to reserve the use his father's mouth for later, consoling himself with the thought that it was a delight he would fully explore to his own content once they had left Nargothrond behind. He had that luxury now, and he didn't want to waste what little time they had in secondary pleasures. He wanted to be inside his father, join their bodies. 

Curufin retrieved a battered phial from among the clutter on the nightstand and handed it to him, then he got on all fours on the bed, knees wide apart, offering himself. Celebrimbor immediately joined him, kneeling behind him. He freed his erection, and smeared it with the lubricant with one hand while he got his father ready with the other. His fingers worked diligently inside his ass, but his eyes were glued to his father's back and head. His hair spilling down one side of his head left his nape bare, and his slender hips trembled whenever he sank his fingers inside him, curling and twisting them. A scar ran diagonally across his left side, down to his buttock, but his skin was otherwise unmarred. 

“Do it,” Curufin said, “take me.”

Celebrimbor's breath caught on a 'yes'. He pulled his fingers out, and coated his erection with more of the lubricant, tossing the phial away. He lined himself with his father's hole, hissing as the head of his cock brushed against it for the very first time. The moistened opening parted to let him in. He pushed, breached it, and was sucked in. Curufin gave a soft wail. Celebrimbor pressed halfway in and had to stop to regain his breath. He bent in half, draping himself over his father, and put his hands over his, locking their fingers together. 

Curufin tensed and trembled under him as he resumed sheathing himself. “Tyelperinquar,” he moaned, an heart-wrenchingly sweet sound.

Celebrimbor's head dropped forward, and his hair mixed with his father's in a single cloud of darkness. He started moving, retreating and pushing his way back inside those soft walls that adhered to him so completely, so greedily. Yet beyond the friction, the heat, the sweat, memories surged like water bursting forth from a broken dam. The first time he had stared at his father with desire, thinking it only an adolescent's infatuation. Finrod's fair smile. Thrusting inside his father felt like killing him all over again. Orodreth's body, softer than his father's. If only he could have been content with Orodreth's guiltless love. His mother, lying dead on the bare rocks of Nan Dungortheb, her eyes frozen in dread. They had had to leave her body there, and here he was – taking his father with no regard for her memory. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he kept thrusting, rolling his hips against his father's ass. Their bodies slammed together violently, the slick fleshy sound of it reverberating in the room. 

“How –...how could you think of leaving me?” Curufin sobbed, and pushed back against him, eagerly taking all he had to give. 

Celebrimbor raised his head and blinked, as if waking from a dream. A sharp intake of breath filled his lungs with the scent of his father's hair, and the tenderness laced with despair in his father's tone chased away the sombre memories. 

“I'm sorry,” he panted, “I'm sorry.”

After he came he didn't want to pull out, but Curufin disengaged himself from under him and pulled him down, forcing him to lie on the bed. Then he straddled his groin, grinding down on his cock, and when he was erect again took him inside himself for the second time – one of many more to come. Celebrimbor was still in a haze from his first orgasm, and at first he just looked up while his father rode him, the pendant dancing on his heaving chest.

At one point, someone came in to gather the documents, and Curufin stooped over to shield him from their gaze. The rustling of fine parchment added itself to Curufin's moaning, and to the sharp squelching whenever he descended on Celebrimbor's cock – the sound of his father rubbing his seed into his own insides. Biting back a lustful cry, he reached for his father's thigh and caressed it with renewed vigour, while pumping his cock with the other.

They came together, Curufin's seed dripping all over his hand and the hem of his shirt. When Celebrimbor came back to himself he was lying on top of his father, who petted and fondled him, bathing his face in kisses and licks, still fucking him. His thrusts were weak, his movements languid, with no goal other than remaining joined to his father for as long as possible. When Celegorm burst into the room he was as far from orgasm as if he had been soft.

“Dress at once!” Celegorm said urgently.

Curufin cast a drowsy glance at his brother and put his hands on Celebrimbor's hips, gently pushing him away. 

The spark of jealousy in Celegorm's eyes repaid Celebrimbor of the vexation of separating from his father's body. He straightened his clothes, swapping his stained shirt for one of Celegorm's own picked from among the mess on one of the chests, then helped Celegorm dress his father again. 

Celegorm thought it would be best for Curufin to ride, given his condition, and helped him mount his horse right outside the gates. The bridle he handed to Celebrimbor, and the twofold significance of the gesture echoed in Celebrimbor's ears in the sudden empty hush surrounding him, as if the people of Nargothrond watching them and the handful of followers who were to go with them had suddenly disappeared, and there existed only he, his father and Celegorm stiffly acquiescing to him having Curufin as lover. Celebrimbor nodded to him, and turned to lead their small procession, asking himself how indeed he could have thought of watching his father ride away.

Curufin rode with the majesty of a king. He didn't look like he had been fucked in the ass by his son moments before, and showed none of the discomfort straddling a horse must cause him while they slowly wound their way on the rocky path down the mountain-side to the ford on the river Narog.

Celebrimbor too held his head high. He was a traitor already. He didn't want to be a coward too, and faced up to the shock on Orodreth's face, mourning in his heart the gentleness and kindness he was leaving behind. 

After they crossed the ford, he got in the saddle behind his father, and his cock immediately stirred anew when he pressed his groin against the small of his father's back. He gripped the reins tightly. He turned to look up at the gates one last time before veering south, but Orodreth had already disappeared inside the caves again. 

Curufin abandoned himself on his chest, sighing contentedly.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song "The Man who Sold the World" by David Bowie (though Midge Ure's version is perhaps better suited for Celebrimbor here).


End file.
